Entropy
by Tozette
Summary: Low profile assignments, nail polish and seafood. Orochimaru and Itachi socialize. Shounenai subtext and UST.


Disclaimer: The manga/anime series, "Naruto" and any and all characters or place names pertaining thereto are the sole property of the creator and associated persons. The author of this story does not claim or aspire to own any of these. Any thoughts or opinions expressed by the characters in this piece of fanwork do not necessarily reflect those of the author or of the creator of the original series.

Friends, I should tell you that this falls under "humour" loosely and only if you like black humour. XD

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Orochimaru glanced up from the menu he'd been lazily perusing when a shadow fell over him. His eyes darkened to gold. "You're late," he said flatly.

Itachi folded his thick cloak over one arm and draped it across the back of the chair. Catlike, he curled back into the chair's embrace. "I had something to take care of," he responded. "Have you found something?" he nodded to the menu between them on the table.

"Not yet," Orochimaru admitted, glancing around the room. He'd chosen the corner table. All exits and entrances were visible. Itachi followed his gaze, hooded red eyes sliding over the clientele.

There was a pause. Itachi snatched up the menu from the table. Orochimaru eyed him with only faint curiosity. The civilian clothing was softer, less durable. It felt strange against his skin. Cloakless, Itachi's skin was flawless and pale. "Vain creature," he murmured, once he'd noticed the careful genjutsu.

A flicker of something flashed behind Itachi's eyes for a moment, and his lips thinned minutely. Otherwise, he did not appear to have even heard the remark. "You would do well to blend in," he responded softly after a moment.

"I am not recognisable. Although, with just your skills..." Orochimaru's lips twisted into a smirk. He let the sentence hang.

Itachi either did not notice the insinuation or did not care. A deferential waiter sidled up to their table. "Can I get you drinks, gentlemen?" he asked softly.

"Water," Itachi said.

The waiter pursed his lips at being addressed so abruptly, but nodded. He glanced at Orochimaru. "Of course. And you, sir?"

Itachi's eyes were on the customers, but Orochimaru's lingered on the waiter's form. The man had broad shoulders, slim hips and long limbs. A momentary hitch in his mind left him shivering with the imagined pleasure of a sinking his hands deep inside the man's body and the hot flesh sucking against his skin as he withdrew. Orochimaru smiled at him.

Itachi raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Pamake." His voice was a mellifluous rasp. The word received a few more millimetres of height from Itachi's eyebrow. The waiter gave him an uncertain smile, nodded and bowed out, returning to the rock he crawled out from under.

"You're slipping." Itachi said flatly.

Orochimaru leaned back in his seat. "Going to kill me while I'm inebriated, Itachi-san?" he purred. "You are an excellent ninja -- but you are not good enough to beat me."

Itachi raised one eloquent eyebrow. Orochimaru smiled, flashing long, curved teeth. "Well, Itachi-san? Has the time finally come?"

Itachi slammed his palm against the table with a solid _thwak_. "Enough," he ground out. "I did not come here to start a fight."

Orochimaru relaxed into his chair. "I suppose it will have to wait then," he said softly.

With a clink, a different waiter set a bottle of water, two cups and a small glass of strangely-coloured liquid. Sensing tension, he withdrew without a word. Itachi's eyes lingered on the glass, but he did not ask.

"Pomegranate," Orochimaru supplied conversationally. He took a sip of the drink under Itachi's disapproving eyes, and set it back down. "It's sweet," he commented with a twisted little smile, eyeing Itachi's pale throat speculatively. Itachi flushed, a hard line of red across his cheekbones and nose, but didn't day anything, so Orochimaru couldn't tell if it was anger at his mockery, or something else.

Once again, they fell to scanning the other diners in the absence of anything to say. Silence stretched between them, awkward and uncomfortable. The skin on the back of Orochimaru's neck itched. He smiled at the woman at the next table. She swallowed and gripped her companion's hand. He and Itachi were not people consumed by idle chitchat. Silence was their natural state, but it felt rushed now.

He tapped his fingernails restlessly on the tabletop. Click. Click-click. Click.

Itachi's eyes slid towards his hand, but he didn't move. The silence continued to stretch between them, tenuous and thready like a fading heartbeat.

Click. Click-click. Click. His nails drummed on the wood, fingers jerking with strong, staccato movements. Itachi's eyes lingered on the water in his glass, the water he hadn't tasted, as it shuddered in time to the rhythm of Orochimaru's hands. He shifted in his seat. Click. Click-click. Click.

Orochimaru was watching him now, tapping away with a warped smile playing about the edges of his thin, bloodless lips. Click. Click-click. Click. Itachi drew his eyes away from that hand and back to the clientele, but Orochimaru continued to watch him, smirking.

Click. Click-click. Cli -

Itachi's hands looked delicate, an affectation not helped by the nail polish. They were warm and dry and capable of crushing the bones in his fingers with ease. Orochimaru hadn't seen him move. Obediently, he flattened his palm to the tabletop and ceased tapping.

Itachi withdrew his hand and rubbed his palm almost absently, eyes still on the room's other occupants. Orochimaru sighed, deprived of his game, and took another sip of his drink. It was too sweet, really, despite the pleasant burn of alcohol. He returned the glass to the tabletop without a sound, expressionless as a snake.

Both sets of eyes flew to the form of the woman as she walked through the door. She was tall for a woman, and beautiful, with thick black hair and blue eyes, wrapped in furs. The head waiter hurried to help her from her coat and seat her next to a tall, heavyset man. Carefully, Itachi and Orochimaru returned their attention to one another, no longer looking through the crowd.

Itachi raised an eyebrow. "We'll be here for a while," he said.

Orochimaru nodded and made an imperious gesture. A man was there to attend them almost before he'd dropped his hand. They ordered food. Light food, of course. Itachi glanced at the menu, turned to the waiter and ordered the most expensive seafood entree from the list. Orochimaru was more pragmatic.

They waited in silence and sipped their drinks in turn. With nowhere else to look, they looked at each other.

Orochimaru found his eyes drawn to the glittery piece of tin around Itachi's neck. It seemed out of the boy's character to take such pains with his appearance - his nail polish was always fresh and dark, never chipped or faded. His hair was clean and lustrous with no split ends, and never dirty. That ever-present necklace never caught light at inappropriate moments or clinked when he moved.

Orochimaru leaned on one hand and eyed it suspiciously. It was difficult for him to imagine Itachi actually sitting down to paint his nails, or buying shampoo, or carefully rearranging a necklace, but he must.

"What?" Itachi growled finally.

Orochimaru glanced up, shrugged, and looked out at the waiters standing at attention throughout the restaurant.

Itachi fell silent again.

Food arrived, and neither ate. Oroshimaru pushed his around on his plate, unable to remember what he'd ordered -- he recalled the name, of course, but it was some language he did not speak - French, perhaps - and he couldn't identify what was on his plate.

The dead, chilled creatures on Itachi's plate stared sightlessly up at him. Itachi stared right back and for one short moment, Orochimaru thought he saw the faintest smile touch his lips.

He dismissed the notion as ludicrous and returned to his attempts to identify his dinner.

"It's fish," Itachi told him flatly.

Orochimaru still didn't attempt to eat it. He knew better than to eat something he could not identify for himself. Patiently but uncomfortably, the pair waited, arranged in relaxed positions atop their seats like finely-carved, lifeless marionettes.

Itachi had excellent eyes. "She's leaving."

Orochimaru did not glance up from his fish. "You're certain?"

"I said so."

He waved for the account, and a waiter managed a concerned look. "You did not find your meals to your liking, sirs?" he asked.

Itachi was a coiled spring. Tension sang in every line of his body. "I wouldn't feed this to my dog," Orochimaru said absently, giving him notes without looking at them. "Keep the change," he said, keeping his eyes on the boy.

They waited for her to leave, furs wrapped back around her lithe form. The man she'd met tipped twenty percent and followed her out. Orochimaru watched with interest. It had been the single flaw in their plan, negligible, really, but it was nice to be right.

In nearby alleyway, the woman fought him. Inevitably, he slit her throat as the moonlight glinted from the distinct contours of his Mist hitai-ate.

Orochimaru and Itachi did not need to speak. This assignment had become too easy. Itachi held his gaze, and the man was oblivious. Orochimaru killed him from a distance. They'd never even needed to dirty their hands.

The Uchiha trademark fire-element techniques disposed of the man's body. With a cursory glance, they left the exquisite corpse of the woman in the gutter for the city's scavengers to find.

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_Well, I've never really written these two. It's clearly before Orochimaru left the Akatsuki, so if Itachi seems young, it's because he __**is**__ young. It was an odd little bunny that sprang up from the idea of Orochimaru ever actually, "dating" someone. This was about as close as I could come._

_Reviews loved, and signed ones replied to!_

_Yasi_


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